That Social Justice Shit

You write that social justice shit, right?
Angry art, he answered, is manufactured in blood.
The woman turned away.
But that's obvious, he continued.
It's written in blood,
but it's sculpted in flesh and bone.
The bones of children, found beneath endless piles of rubble.
It's glazed over with the tears of mothers,
canvases toned with bottles of tears, like Liquin.
Fucking trite, she said.
And painted in semen, he replied.
The semen collected for a crime lab somewhere,
for a slide in a long, dark drawer,
scraped from a person who is now just a skeleton of herself.
The clay is mixed with the ashes of charnel pits,
the ink from tattooed flesh,
the steel from bars, from cages, from floating words that read "ARBEIT MACHT FREI".
Peaceful art, he said, is made from paint.
Angry art is made from humans.
And then he shut his lips tight,
and walked away,
leaving the woman behind.